worn out

At bedtime, the girls will pick out stacks and stacks of books for us to read together. Sophie is moving right along, literacy-wise, and is currently reading Matilda and an Arnold Lobel book about a ridiculously cute little owl to her sister and me every night. Some nights while they are waiting for me to get off the phone or finish an email or whatever, they’ll fall asleep before we read. Especially nights like tonight, nights when they’re up two hours after bedtime because there is no school and we so quickly devolve into the no-schedule, too much candy, video games and teevee way of being. We are seriously slovenly. On those nights I’m half filled with guilt, and half silently thanking the powers in charge because they went to sleep without a fuss. I’m sure that when they are adults and they have occasion to read to little ones, they’ll be all, “Sure! I’ll read to you! I’d love to! It’s so Healing for me, because my horrible mother used to promise to read and then putz around until I fell asleep. I’m coping, though.” And I will pay them back by reading to my grandkids (if they materialize) so often that they don’t believe the stories about me.

Do normal people plot revenge for hypothetical situations? I’m just curious.

I’m convinced no matter how I raise my kids, when they’re 30 they’ll be in therapy blaming all their problems on me anyway. So read or don’t read, it will probably all turn out the same! They’ll love you unconditionally!